


Thank the Iris it's Tuesday's

by wyntera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: An otherwise unremarkable undercover job gets a little exciting for Jesse McCree.





	Thank the Iris it's Tuesday's

**Author's Note:**

> With all the hurricane preparations I almost forgot to post this! Enjoy a little ridiculousness.

No two undercover missions are ever the same. Similar, sure, but each and every one requires adaptability and a certain finesse that makes them unique. Blackwatch had its share of people that specialized in such spywork, but the agency was always small with limited resources. They had to make do with what they had. Even though Jesse was a sharpshooter first and foremost, he was given ample opportunity to try his hand at the finer points of espionage.

Little did they realize the chameleon they had in their midsts.

Jesse was almost as good at undercover work as he was with a revolver. Turns out he had a natural gift for showmanship and a vivid imagination. Given just an hour and a collection of random objects, he could concoct a convincing persona with a complete backstory, quirks, and mannerisms, and on one occasion a disguise that managed to fool Commander Morrison. He easily slipped into any role. With a week’s notice he could acquire the skills necessary to perform most any job, or at least mimic it enough to fake competency.

He actually found the work fun, most times. Going from Deadlock to Blackwatch, he had assumed his life would boil down to gunfights and the downtime between them. Undercover work was a nice reprieve, something interesting to break up the monotony (if you could call their line of work mundane.) Sometimes he would even find the work itself interesting. It gave him the opportunity to learn skills he never would think to pick up otherwise. And there were always new and interesting people to meet along the way.

This new iteration of Overwatch is different than the old in a lot of ways--better in a lot of ways--but some things stay the same. Shortly after the Recall Jesse found himself being asked to make use of those covert skills he picked up in Blackwatch. In fact, he has been asked to do so much more than in the past, what with their thin ranks. That’s fine, of course. Jesse is happy to oblige in whatever way he can.

Frankly he’s just glad this mission isn’t in Italy.

The assignment Winston handed him is certainly an easier one: waiting tables in a chain restaurant in middle America, Thank the Iris it’s Tuesday’s. There’s ten thousand places just like it across the country, the walls covered in a hodgepodge of random local memorabilia and whatever junk the decorator could find to take up space, the menu advertising mozzarella sticks and sizzling fajitas. Why Talon chose to set up shop right down the street from this particular restaurant in this completely average town is still something Winston is trying to figure out. As it is, several of their members dine there often enough to be considered regulars and have a tendency to indulge in the five dollar margaritas; the opportunity to eavesdrop on Talon business was too juicy to pass up.

Jesse has been working there the past month--out of the probationary period within a week for stellar performance, thank you very much--and making it his mission to become Talon’s waiter-of-choice. He always makes sure the bar doesn’t skimp on the tequila in their drinks, and if he forgets to charge them for an appetizer or three that just endears them to him more. For remorseless criminals they certainly are great tippers.

Even though the Talon operatives never drop in on Thursdays, that doesn’t mean Jesse can’t be scheduled for that day. The restaurant is moderately busy but they’re running behind on silverware, so he finds himself absent-mindedly wrapping bundles of forks and spoons with napkins when Mira swings by. “Joel, you’ve got six on seventeen.” The pink-haired hostess leans over the back of the booth where he’s seated. “I didn’t think you had any friends in town.”

“What do you mean?” Jesse asks, piling up his completed bundles in the plastic bin for the front.

“They asked to be seated at your table.”

Jesse’s hands pause. His head shoots up. A trickle of cold fear creeps down his spine. “Oh no.” He twists around and cranes his neck and--yep. Yeah, that’s the top of Fareeha’s head just peeking over the tall cushioned back of the oversized booth. “Oh no,” he repeats, slumping down and putting his head in his hands.   


Mira frowns, glancing back at the table then at their newest hire. “Not friends? You want me to have Amanda take over?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jesse straightens with an indulgent smile and gathers the menus from the hostess. “No, they’re just here to give me shit.”

“Ah. Those kind of friends,” she says, patting his shoulder. “Have fun.”

Jesse stands and puts on his customer-service smile, makes his way across the restaurant, and begins plotting revenge. The question is, against who? Which six of his teammates is he going to have to murder by the end of the night?

“Hi there, welcome to Tuesday’s!” he greets, going through the motions of setting out menus without thought, more interested in glaring at each of his supposed friends in turn to even think about the words he now knows by rote. “I’m Joel, I’ll be your server tonight. What can I start you all off with to drink?”

Six smug grins shine back at him. Fareeha is no surprise, dressed in her leather jacket and an arm thrown lazily over the back of the seat. Ana is also expected. She used to drop by to give him a hard time on undercover assignments back in the day. Next to her Lena looks genuinely happy to see him, her cheery smile more playful than normal. Across from them Hana’s smirk is downright devilish, and Lúcio is struggling to contain his sniggers. Which just leaves the one true shock: Hanzo, tucked into the far side of the booth, curiosity in his eyes and an amused little smile on his face at seeing Jesse in a work polo and waist apron.

Hanzo, with whom Jesse had blatantly propositioned the night before this assignment. Hanzo, who had seemed nervous as a newborn colt, who had said he needed time to think about it, who had all but ran from Jesse that night. Hanzo, who Jesse has not spoken to once in the month since.

“I think we need a few minutes to think about it,  _ Joel _ ,” Fareeha says, picking up the drink menu and flipping it open with a gusto, completely unaware of Jesse’s inner panic. “A round of ice waters to start us off?”

“Of course. Let me know if you have any questions,” Jesse replies, dropping the specials menu down between them. He can tell by her tone that this was all her idea.

“And don’t forget lemon,  _ Joel _ ,” Hana adds with a too-sweet smile. “Thank you.”

Jesse smiles and manages not to stall out when he briefly meets Hanzo’s eyes. He tries his best to ignore the snickers at his back as he heads for the drink station, and decides he’s going to have to murder them all.

 

\---

 

“Alright, let’s see here, we’ve got an Ultimate Long Island Ice Tea, a Fresh Watermelon Margarita, the Peach Sangria, a Moscow Mule, a Strawberry Bottomed Pineapple Margarita with extra berries, and a,” and Jesse has to fight to control a laugh as he sets down a pink concoction in front of Hanzo, “a Pink Punk Martini.”

Hanzo gives Jesse an incredulous look at the glass filled with neon pink alcohol, the faint scent of cotton candy filling the air. In response Jesse just smiles expectantly, waiting to see if Hanzo will actually drink his selection. It’s Hanzo’s own fault; he’s the one that asked for Jesse to surprise him. And surprise him he did.

“Ooo! That looks tasty!” Lena says, using a little straw to crush her lime wedge down into the copper mug of her drink. “Good choice!”

“Let me get a picture of that,” Hana adds, snatching up her phone and making Hanzo take a sip so she can get his reaction.

Fareeha licks her lips after taking a long drink from her glass. “Little light on the alcohol,” she comments, “but I suppose it will do.”

Ana hums next to her. “Maybe they’ll do better with the next one.” They click their glasses together and in what seems like moments a good third of their long island and margarita is gone. Jesse blinks a few times to make sure he’s not seeing things.

“Miss, forgive me, I  _ did  _ remember to card you, didn’t I? I might have to check your ID again just to be sure,” Jesse remarks. This despite the fact he went out of his way to check each and every one of their IDs when they made their drink order. Even if Ana’s and Hanzo’s were obvious fakes. He would love to know when Hanzo had that picture taken, though. Not everyone can manage to make a driver’s license photo look attractive.

He misses Fareeha’s reply because Hanzo is suddenly making a decidedly unattractive face, his mouth twisting and his eyes squinting at the strong sugary taste of his drink. The others laugh and Hana takes a quick picture. “Don’t like it, sir?” Jesse asks, full of faux concern and struggling not to laugh. “I can replace that for you if it’s not to your tastes.”

Hanzo shakes his head, his fingers in a death grip on the glass stem. “No, it is...good,” he lies through his teeth, picking up this challenge like all the others they throw at each other. He takes another drink and with a raspy voice adds, “Delicious in fact. A good recommendation.”

“Wonderful! You just let me know when I can get you another,” Jesse says, smoothly pulling his order pad from his apron. “Any questions about the menu?”

“What would you recommend?” Hanzo asks, tilting his head to look up at Jesse.

He is momentarily caught by the glint of gold and neon lights in Hanzo’s eyes and nearly forgets to answer the question. “Well, we’ve got a lot that I think you’d find appealin’.” Jesse leans his hip against the opposite corner of the booth next to Hana. “The Quesadilla Explosion is always a crowd pleaser, but my personal favorite is the Tex-Mex Fajita Skillet. Nothin’ beats food that sizzles, and if you ask nice I might could have the back add a little more spice. If you’re a fan of heat, that is.”

Hanzo’s eyes flick down and up again, and did he just check Jesse out? “I like heat,” Hanzo replies. “And it sounds delicious.” Across the table, Lúcio elbows Hana and they share knowing smirks.

Jesse has to swallow as his throat is suddenly dry. “G-great,” he says, jotting the order down and feeling hot under the collar. Now is not the time to drive his mind into the gutter. He’s a professional, after all. “Sounds good! Is everyone else ready? How about we start with you, ma’am.”

Ana drags a nail down the menu and settles below the a line of text. “Is the margherita chicken any good?”

“I’ve heard nothing but praises.”

“I need to watch my stomach, since we’re drinking tonight,” she murmurs.

The off-hand remark sparks a devilish thought in Jesse’s mind and it has made its way out of his mouth a moment later. “Oh, and it’s even on our senior menu! You can find it on the back.”

Lúcio actually smacks a hand over his mouth to keep from gaping. Beside him, Hana has no such tact, her mouth hanging open in shock. Her finger abscently clicks her phone’s camera to catch another shot, this time of Ana’s thunderous expression. Her daughter shakes with suppressed laughter. Hanzo has to hide his face behind the hideously sweet martini.

Jesse meets Ana’s gaze with a slight uptick of his eyebrow.  _ Can dish it out but you can’t take it? _

Ana narrows her eyes and her mouth turns up into a feral smile.  _ Oh, we came to play, son. _

“Actually,” she says, flicking the menu over to another page, “I think I’ll have the Asian Chicken Salad Deluxe but instead of chopped lettuce I would like spinach with arugula, and upgrade the orange chicken to the steak--pink on the inside charred on the outside. Oh if you could make sure to remove the almonds; no, I'm not allergic, they just get in my teeth something awful. And extra wonton strips, whatever those crunchy things in the picture are--oh! And instead of the orange vinaigrette, I could have French dressing; you do have French dressing, don’t you? Yes, it’s right here, and you know what, I think I will have almonds but please could you put them on the side? Thank you.”

It doesn’t occur to Jesse to start writing until Ana is already halfway through, and he scrambles to catch up. The gauntlet has been thrown; he has to get this order perfect or Ana will make the rest of the evening ten times worse. And much to his horror he sees the others at the table looking their own selections over with a critical eye. As Fareeha takes a deep breath to start her own order, Jesse curses the fact he wasn’t assigned to work in fast food.

 

\---

 

Through some miracle, the kitchen staff is able to pull of the overly-complicated order without a hitch. Probably because Mira told Amanda and Amanda told the chefs that table seventeen was VIP. Jesse will have to buy them a round at the bar because not a single one of his teammates can find so much as a leaf of lettuce out of place to complain about. And it seems that the thrill of harassing Jesse has fallen to the wayside in favor of getting drunk. Ana is on her second margarita, and the others seem determined to work their way through the entire beverage menu.

Another burst of laughter erupts from the table, audible enough to hear across the restaurant in the drink station where Jesse is pouring sodas for table twenty-one. To his left Amanda is keying an order into the touchscreen register with a speed one gets only from repetition. She laughs as Jesse twists to check on table seventeen. “They sound like they’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, maybe a little too much fun,” he replies, putting each glass onto a round serving tray. “Ain’t seen ‘em actin’ like this in a good long while.”

“Good friends?”

That draws a genuine smile from his face, not the one he puts on for customers. “The best.”

Amanda hums and stands up on her tiptoes to try and spot them over the rest of the crowd. “Dating any of them?”

“Amanda.”

“Bet it’s the broody fella. The one with the undercut.”

“Don’t,” Jesse warns.

She bounces back onto her heels. “Don’t what?”

He lifts the tray with one hand and points at her with the other. “You know what. I’ve worked here long enough to know how you lot are. Give you ten minutes and half the wait staff will be in the back plottin’.”

Amanda holds her hands up defensively, but he doesn’t buy that innocent smile for one second. “Just a question!”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Jesse heads out into the dining room and makes his rounds, trying to keep his mind on the job at hand. It’s more difficult than he’d like, what with Hanzo’s deep raspy laugh sneaking into his ears between orders. He is both eager and terrified to get the man alone and find out why he’s here. Was he just tagging along to torment Jesse on this assignment? Or is he here to talk? And if so, just what does he have to say? The thought makes Jesse’s stomach clench with anxiety. Worse still that he can’t find out without making a fool of himself in front of the others.

When he makes it back around to the Overwatch table, he sees that they all have their forks down and their plates mostly clean. He swoops in to start gathering their dirty dishes without thought. “How was everything tonight?”

Several of them frown. Lena even leans forward as if to stop him from cleaning their table. Then she stops himself, remembering where they are and the role Jesse is playing. “Very good,” she says, her tone apologetic.

“Yes, and even better service,” Hanzo adds, doing his part to gather the cutlery onto one plate and earning a thankful little smile from Jesse.

“Why thank you, I do my best.” With everything gathered, he looks around the table. “Can I interest any of you in dessert tonight?” They all start to protest, patting stomachs. “Are you sure? We’ve got a Brownie Meltdown Delight that is just to die for.”

“I can’t eat another bite,” Hana complains.

“Okay, I’ll be right back with the check.” They all nod and he heads back to the kitchen to drop off the plates. As he turns to the register, though, something catches his eye. And then he gets a truly wicked idea.

 

\---

 

The clapping starts with the wait staff gathered at the entrance to the kitchens. Loud, rhythmic clapping in a jaunty beat that immediately grabs the attention of the other patrons. Over the heads turning their way Jesse catches sight of Hana shooting to her feet, a bright grin on her face, phone whipping out to capture the moment. He’ll have to thank her for recording it later, considering his hands are busy.

He leads the procession on a winding path through the dining room and arrives at their table, sweeping around to the other side as the waiters and waitresses crowd in. The same flash of panic crosses all his friends’ faces but Hanzo seems to know this is for him. He grips the edge of the table like he might jump and bolt. Jesse is smarter than that, though, easily trapping Hanzo in and presenting him with the Birthday Treat Supreme: a giant wine glass containing a three-layered strawberry cake, topped with vanilla ice cream, then smothered in caramel, hot fudge, whipped cream, and dark chocolate sprinkles. A bright red cherry is perched on top of it all, slowly sliding down into the mess of sweets.

“We got a birthday, y’all!” Jesse shouts to the restaurant, and Hanzo buries his face in his hands. “One, two, three, four!”

With that, all the servers start singing at the top of their lungs.

 

_ “Happy happy birthday, _

_ from all of us to you! _

_ We wish it was our birthday so we’d be happy too! _

_ Happy happy birthday, _

_ may all your dreams come true! _

_ We wish it was our birthday so we could party too! _

_ Woo!” _

 

All the waiters cheer with more enthusiasm than they normally display for birthdays--they’ve all had friends they’ve wanted to humiliate, too--before dispersing back to their duties. Jesse’s Overwatch colleagues yell loudest of all. He’s sure alcohol plays a significant factor in their volume. For Hanzo, he just smiles down at his unearned dessert in defeat, a small laugh escaping him as he picks up one of the many spoons. “I will remember this, cowboy,” he says, helping himself to a spoonful of cool vanila and warm chocolate.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Jesse murmurs back as the others grab their own spoons and descend on the shared dessert. He slips the check onto the table and beats a hasty retreat, hoping to avoid any whip cream flung his way in the resulting eating chaos. It certainly has nothing to do with the way Hanzo held his gaze, or how pink and wet his tongue looked licking at the whipped cream on the spoon.

 

\---

 

Jesse thinks it’s cute that Hanzo insisted on paying for everyone’s meal, his chin in the air like the criminal heir he is, like he’s dining in Milan and not the middle of Oklahoma. The card Jesse runs does not carry Hanzo’s nor any of the other Overwatch agents’ names. One of Hanzo’s many aliases from his days on the run. Jesse wonders if the others know.

Everyone wishes Joel a good evening when he comes back with the receipt, much more subdued now that the food and drink has settled in their systems. “Hope y’all had a good meal, and come back and see us soon,” Jesse says, unable to linger when he still has tables to tend. He takes an order from a family of four then circles back to collect the tag from the table. Flipping open the black book and expecting a silly note, he stops in his tracks when he spots a ridiculous amount of money on top of the receipt, and a note below in Hanzo’s crisp clean script.

_ Give this to the rest of the staff as bribe to get off early. I’m not waiting another month to give you a proper answer. -H _

Underneath the receipt is a hotel key.

A rush of molten heat pools in Jesse’s veins. His head jerks up to the front lobby. Hanzo is the last still there, pulling on his coat as the others slip outside. He looks back and their eyes meet, one long knowing moment, before Hanzo smiles and ducks his head, fleeing out into the fall breeze.

“Hot damn,” Jesse whispers. He doesn’t even notice the middle-aged man trying to flag him down for a bottle of steak sauce on his way to the hostess stand. “Hey. Hey Mira? Mira! I gotta favor to ask…”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Thank the Iris it's Tuesday's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775086) by [sksNinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksNinja/pseuds/sksNinja)




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